Sometimes Good Guys Don't Wear White
by shortstackedcheesecake
Summary: Eric has fulfilled his dream of becoming a sheriff, but there's still something missing from his life. Kyle. But his childhood friend may be closer to him than he thinks. My submission for day 3 of Kyman Week - 'Games.' Rated M for violent scenes.


**A/N: **_Honestly, I'm not 100% sure what this is, but what I do know is that it's kyman week (my fave week of the year!), and that seeing all the amazing Phone Destroyer Western inspired AU content for game day last year really made me want to do something like that this year! Plus, I've wanted to do something Western-inspired for years, so I think this is a good way to dip my toe in. I'm also placing a warning here for violent, bloody scenes, if that's not your thing. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy! I'd love to know your thoughts!_

* * *

The main street was quiet as Kyle rode into town. The high, afternoon sun was baking the dusty, cracked terrain and forcing the townspeople inside. Everyone, it seemed, except for a little girl, scrawny and sunburned, curled up on the ground with a few pennies for her troubles in a hat placed in front of her. Kyle frowned, even as an adult, even as someone who wanted to readdress the balance, South Park was still as corrupt as ever. The greedy rich bloated with wealth, and the needy continued to go without.

He hopped off his horse and strolled over to her. The jingling of his spurs alerted the girl to the stranger approaching... or perhaps she recognised him? His partially concealed face was plastered on Wanted posters all over the county, after all. He pulled his trusty bandana away from his mouth.

"Hey there... you alright?" he asked. "You're a little young to be begging..."

"Oh..." the little girl fiddled with the hem of her tattered dress. "Well, I'm not s'posed to. My brothers told me I ain't allowed but we don't have a lot of money. My folks died because they drank too much and... my brothers work real hard but-"

"Where do they work?"

"In the Yardale mine," she replied. "My pa used to work there too."

"Mmhm..." Kyle nodded. The Yardale family had been crippling the townspeople for years, promising prosperity but only increasing their own profits, not caring about the lives of their employees. Even with a new owner, Gregory, nothing appeared to have changed. "And what's your name?"

"Karen."

Kyle reached into his pocket.

"Well, tell you what, Karen, you take this," he tossed a small pouch her way. "And you run along home..."

Karen's brow creased with wariness, before she opened the bag and revealed wads of dollar bills, and coins. Her eyes glinted with gold.

"Wha- thank you, mister!"

Kyle tipped his hat to her, and as he began to walk away he pulled his bandana back over his face. He couldn't risk being uncovered for too long, not when he still had so much he wanted to do, not when there were children like Karen still suffering in his town... and not when the sheriff was one of his childhood best friends.

It had perturbed Kyle initially to know that his biggest opposition to his grand mission was a guy he had already spent most of his childhood arguing with. He feared it would compromise him, but it turned out to be a comfort. Kyle was naturally terrified the first time he ever broke the law, but hiding in a dark, wet alley as Eric yelled at his deputy and stalked the streets for him brought out the thrill in the danger, his familiar voice possessing a strange sense of security. There was nothing like the rush of riding out of town in the star-speckled night, his horse galloping, his loot bouncing behind him, and Eric's curses following him like a howling breeze through the plains.

The bank was empty when he entered, with only a middle-aged teller smiling at him from behind his desk.

"Hello, sir!"

Kyle didn't respond, glare steely as he approached the desk. The floorboards creaked with the weight of his slow, measured steps.

"How can I help you-" The teller gasped. The sharp breath robbing the colour from his face. "You're the-"

Kyle had already removed his gun from his holster, living up to his nickname. He cocked it, and lifted the gun right to the teller's face.

He raised his hands immediately, trembling and sweating.

"P-p-please! I, I, I don't want no trouble!"

Kyle tugged the bandana away from his mouth again.

"I know," he replied, gruff and flat. "Me neither. But I want all the money from Mr Yardale's account put into bags and handed over to me, got it? And nobody will get hurt..."

A loud shriek tore through the room. Kyle turned his head to see a smartly-dressed woman standing in the entrance to the bank, chest heaving and eyes wide fixed on the gun in his hand.

"Ma'am-"

She fled before Kyle could finish.

* * *

Today had been boring, but Eric was thankful for the banality. It was hard to muster up the energy to do anything in such stifling heat, let alone arrest criminals. He sat in his office, feet propped up on the table and arms folded behind his head. Perhaps he would take a stroll down Main Street soon? Stretch his legs, keep an eye on things... make sure those seeking relief from the sun at the bottom of a cold, cheap glass of beer weren't brawling in the saloon. If it didn't cure his lethargy, moseying around Main Street would give his ego a nice stroke. Even now, he loved having the authority to step in when some good-for-nothing was causing trouble, or tipping his hat to every 'Howdy, Sheriff!' that came his way.

Suddenly, the doors to his office were thrown open. The blinding sunlight poured in, outlining a distressed young lady.

"Sheriff!" she cried. "Sheriff, come quick!"

Eric lifted himself out of his chair, thumbs hooked around his belt loops as he approached her.

"What seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

"It's the Gunslinger! He's holding up the bank!"

He needn't ask more. He bolted out of the office, with the witness following him. His hand was already hovering over his holster, ready to take down the most troublesome outlaw he had ever come across. The Gunslinger was arrogant, meddlesome, and quite frankly delusional if he thought thievery was going to make the lives of the citizens of South Park any better. And yet, he was famous, revered among the more downtrodden residents, and hailed as some sort of new Robin Hood. Eric fumed whenever he heard scandalised, excited murmurings of the Gunslinger's latest heists, a reminder of his own failure to catch him. But whoever this masked criminal was he was just as quick on his feet as he was with his pistol. Still, he couldn't soar forever, and Eric planned to be the sea that swallowed him up when he fell from the sun. The townspeople may not be too happy when their precious rogue is finally caught, but Eric didn't care about their opinion. He was their authority, and they had to respect him.

He knew one person in particular would've had a lot to say about him finally putting the Gunslinger behind bars, and that was Kyle. If he were still around, he would be The Gunslinger's biggest fan. Eric could just imagine it. Finally, he would say, somebody actually doing something about the corruption in this town! Somebody standing up for the people! Despite his contempt for The Gunslinger, Eric wished Kyle was still around to see them, and he wished even more that Kyle had seen him appointed Sheriff. Perhaps he could have actually implemented the change Kyle wanted to see, but without him there, what was the point? Eric had begrudgingly come to peace with the fact that he would never get the opportunity to make Kyle happy long ago. He just had to fulfil his duties to the town now, that was the measure of his own half-content life.

When they reached the bank, the teller was hurriedly stuffing stacks of dollar bills in a burlap sack.

"Hold it right there!" Eric demanded, withdrawing his gun from his holster and aiming it at the Gunslinger's back.

The criminal turned around, and fired his gun. Eric ducked and the lady shrieked as splinters and chipped wood exploded from the doorframe. Before Eric could do anything, he was shoved to the ground. Through the dust, and heatwave, and the chaos he saw the Gunslinger sprinting to his gleaming black horse. He climbed into the saddle, giving the horse's flank a sharp, swift nudge and sent it galloping out of town.

"Shit!" Eric muttered, scrambling to his feet and running to his own horse.

He could taste sand and sweat in his mouth, and the dust from the ground clung to his drenched shirt as he climbed onto his own horse. He tugged roughly at her reins, but with a protesting whinny she was soon off, in pursuit of the Gunslinger.

They were on the outskirts of town when Eric finally got the Gunslinger in his sights. Away from the buildings, and the people, in the wide, open plain he seemed like more of a man than ever, more fallible. Eric felt like he was a tide drawing in, ready to sweep this fallen angel away. He gave his horse's flank a kick and she gathered speed, earth flying from her hooves. Eric bared down on her as she flew towards their target, the relentless thump of her galloping filling his ears more than his own pounding heart.

Soon he was side by side with the Gunslinger and his steed. He didn't look at Eric, staring at escape on the horizon. He lifted his hand to keep his hat from flying off, and it was only then that Eric caught a glimpse of his face. In a split second, beneath the blistering sun and amidst the hurtling chase, Eric caught a flash of fear in his eyes, as precious and remarkable as a diamond among coal. He grinned, emboldened, and without hesitation, reached into his holster and pulled out his gun. He cocked it, and aimed it at the Gunslinger's side. He squeezed the trigger, the bullet ripping out of the chamber and lodging itself between his ribs. He cried out, muffled beneath his famous bandana. Red sprayed from the wound, and sent their horses careening off in opposite directions, the gunshot driving them apart. The Gunslinger's horse was spooked, back legs kicking and flailing madly. Its rider was too weak to protest, to calm it down. He landed on the ground with another cry as he was kicked off his horse, clutching his side. The blood spreading, dark and slow, beneath his shirt. Eric watched it all, shocked and fascinated, as his own horse panicked and neighed.

"Easy, girl..." he murmured, petting her mane as she began to calm down. "Easy..."

Once she was fully settled, Eric hoisted his leg over and jumped from the saddle. He tucked his thumbs in his belt loops, a victorious grin etched into his face as he approached the criminal writhing on the ground.

"Well, well, well, looks like I finally caught the notorious Gunslinger, huh? Thought you could keep this up, didn't you? Not on my watch..."

The Gunslinger's hat had fallen from his head, revealing striking and... _familiar_... red curls. Eric swallowed the forlorn lump that had pushed itself into his throat, shoving any thoughts of Kyle and his beautiful, scarlet hair to the back of his mind. This was a triumph for him, he deserved to enjoy it without being reminded of the only one who had truly got away.

"You've been a thorn in my side for far too long... you actually thought you were untouchable!" Eric laughed. "Smug, and noble, and hiding behind your little disguises... But look at you now!"

Eric knelt down, and ripped the bandana from the Gunslinger's sweaty face. Looking up at him were not the eyes of a bested criminal, or even that of a stranger... they were the eyes of a boy he had known, and loved his whole life. Glittering and gorgeous still, but terrified and dimming with every second the crimson stain spread over his shirt. He pulled back, shaking, and that lump had returned in his throat, forceful, and uncontrollable, and tasting of bile. He raised a quivering hand to his mouth to stop himself from vomiting.

"Kyle?!

"Eric..." Kyle gasped, face white and glistening. "I..."

"What the hell are you doing?!" he shrieked, tears burning his eyes.

"I... I'm sorry..." Kyle murmured, eyelids drooping. "I'm sorry this had to happen-"

He coughed, and horrifyingly, his lips were mottled by ominous red flecks.

"D-d-don't be sorry... I'm- here..." he reached for Kyle's bandana, and pressed it to his wound that was hot, and wet, and _wouldn't stop spurting_. "I'm here... I... I need to get you back to town... come on..."

Kyle nodded, face creased with pain and body limp as Eric pulled him to his feet. He dragged Kyle to his horse, and lifted him onto the saddle. Kyle simply flopped, elastic and tethered to nothing except Eric. Gunslinger, Kyle, whoever he was, there was no way Eric was going to let him go. He still held his bandana to his side, it was quickly turning red. Eric joined him on the horse, grabbing Kyle's free hand and bringing it to his chest for support. He told him to hold on, and Kyle obeyed, fingers clawing into his shirt as he slumped against Eric's back.

They galloped into town, Eric's vision was blurry with dust and tears that seemed to fly away from his lashes like they were blessed raindrops in this long, excruciating summer day. He murmured to Kyle, to himself, that they were almost there, and they would get him help, and everything would be fine. It had to be, Eric couldn't lose Kyle again, and no way could he lose him by his own hand. His hope rested on Kyle's every shallow breath against his back.

They reached the town, and Eric, panting, jumped down from the saddle. Kyle collapsed into his arms but Eric caught him, careful to cradle him gently without aggravating his wound. He was nearly scarlet from head to toe. Eric choked on a terrified, angry sob.

"Help!" he screamed, carrying Kyle like a bride. "Somebody help, please!"

Townspeople, concerned and nosy alike, soon emerged from their houses.

"What on earth is happening?" an older woman asked.

"Is that-"

"Good lord!" a gentleman gasped, moving closer to Eric and Kyle to inspect the horrific scene.

"What the hell are you all standing there for?!" he cried. "Somebody get a doctor!"

The gathered townspeople all looked between them, confused and frightened.

"Y-y-yes sheriff, right away!" One man nodded, rushing off to find help.

As everyone else began to murmur and crowd around them, Eric lowered his head to speak right in Kyle's ear.

"We're getting help, Kyle..." he murmured. "It's alright... you're going to be alright... I..." he squeezed his eyes shut, and a tear fell onto Kyle's cheek. "I'm so sorry..."

Kyle didn't reply, simply clutched him tighter.


End file.
